The Secret of Brother Jeremias
by themuller
Summary: The Monastery is a place out of time. The villagers fear the monks, and women entering its grounds are facing excommunication. But once a year, the abbot will choose one captive in the village prison to become a novice at the Monastery - a dubious mercy in the mind of the villagers, since no novice has ever returned to the village. - Beware of explicit violence and non-con.
1. The gauntlet

_The Lover asked his Beloved if there remained in Him anything still to be loved. And the Beloved replied that he had still to love that by which his own love could be increased._

 **Ramon Llull, The Book of the Lover and the Beloved, verse 1**

It is the first Sunday after Easter. People are lining the small street leading from the centre of the village all the way to the monastery's large entrance further up the mountain. A good three miles of which the first few hundred yards through the village are plastered with cobblestones before it turns into a gravel road. The sun is shining. Still, there is a chill in the air. The subdued solemnity of the Easter procession has been replaced with eager chatting, laughs, and the gleeful anticipation of this year's gauntlet. Young men have taken the front line, holding rods and canes, exchanging stories and suggestions on how to best place a hit, discussing the proper length and weight of their tools.

The crowd is hushed when the jail gates open. The heavy wooden doors and metal hinges squeak and creak as if protesting the bright light and fresh air flooding the dark and dank cavities behind the massive stonewalls. The commander in chief, pretentiously sitting on a beautiful black horse, rides slowly out on to the small square, a long rope in one hand while guiding the horse forward with the reins in his other hand. Behind him a small figure emerges from the shadows.

A boy, almost a man, stumbles forward. His hands are bound behind his back and he is naked except for a small cloth barely covering his privates. His black hair is sticking to his temples, grimy with filth and dirt. He squints, trying to shield his eyes from the sudden onslaught of light after long months in almost total darkness. His body bears the witness of torture and hunger, bruised and thin. The protruding ribs and the stark whiteness of the skin are covered by mud and excrements smeared on and clinging to his body. Around his neck, spun tight in a noose, is the end of the long rope.

The pent up energy of the crowd is released in a roar. It surges forward, closing in on its victim who stands in the middle of the open place, defenceless and confused. Intently, merciless and eager the men wield their weapons of punishment. The first beatings are fumbling and unsure of their target, but soon their aim improves, supported by the viciousness of angry slurs and curses.

The commander tugs hard at the rope and the young man staggers ahead, trying to find his footing, to gather speed and find a safer way through the mass enclosing on him. The noose is tight and he can hardly breathe, the strokes and blows fall relentlessly, in seemingly endless succession.

Danny is scared. He shuts his eyes, would have covered his ears to shut out the noise, the shouts. He cannot understand what is happening. His dulled senses attacked by too much light, too much noise, too many people. Nameless faces interspersed with men and women Danny recognises. But recognition turns into horror when he finally realises the purpose of the gathering. His steps are faltering, only to be pulled brutally forward once again by the rope around his neck.

 _The gauntlet_ , Danny's mind screams at him.

The annual gauntlet, the only event in his village he has never been a part of in any way. A silent scream is forming in his throat, constricted by the rope, noiseless because of other screams, cries for mercy and help, which had gone unheard and ignored in the past months of his incarceration. As he shuffles forward, pulled and pushed, it is not the pain and humiliation Danny fears. His body is numb already, the pain barely felt through the fog of hunger and exhaustion. Having insults thrown at him has become far too common through the years since his mother had passed away. No, Danny does not fear the abuse or indignity of the gauntlet. He fears its destination, the end.

A particular vicious blow has Danny on his knees, the crowd screeching even closer, hands punching, boots kicking. He tries to shield his body, his head, curling in on himself before the rope pulls him forward and up once again, away from the mob. But Danny cannot breathe, the noose too tight, his fear too overwhelming.

 _Not the monastery!_

His scream is mute, voiceless, powerless. Not another prison, another dark cell, surrounded by a large wall build of stone and self-righteousness, discipline and obedience, hypocrisy and sanctimoniousness. A life of servitude and slavery in a place from which no boy has ever returned to the village.

Blindly Danny pushes forward, not heeding his bloodied feet and battered body. His mouth is open, gulping for air. The rope between him and the rider is growing slack. He has no plan, but he needs to escape, to find a way out of this before they reach their destination.

The commander grins when he spurs his horse. He knows the boy will not be able to keep running and why should he deprive the people the fun of chasing their prey. When they pass the pillories a tug on the rope tells him that the boy has finished his run. And well timed, the commander thinks dispassionately. Empty for once, the two pillories stand as the physical incarnation of shame and contempt.

Danny has given up by now. Back on his knees, the crowd is closing in. In another cruel twist of fate Danny regains a few moments of awareness and recognises the pillories. The one to the left, closer to the large old oak which during the summer throws a bit of a soothing shadow over the pillory, giving any captive a short reprieve from their ordeal. The old oak, which Danny had used as a hiding place during the day while his mother was kept on display. During the night, he would climb down, find food and water for them. He would wash her face and tend to her wounds. She was branded by the end of her first sentence.

The uproar from the crowd has Danny back on his feet. He has tears in his eyes. He mouths _Goodbye Mother_ before the rope forces him to turn and stagger onward. Engulfed by hatred and pain, Danny continues to walk, pulled closer to his destiny no matter how much he tries to fight against it.

In the small wood right before they enter the open place in front of the monastery he falls once more, being dragged a few yards before the horse stops with a disgruntled whinny. The crowd is over him, beating and kicking and screaming. Danny is not even trying to protect himself any longer, lying helpless, his head rolling on the ground and his body rocked by the kicks and punches from the agitated mass.

The colossal sound of the bell brings everything to a halt. The crowd falls silent, and when the second bellow rumbles through the tree tops, the people draw back, opening up around the beaten and bloodied body in front of them. Even the horse stops swishing its tail, now standing guard beside Danny, the rope hanging loose from the surprised commander's hand. The bell tolls a third time, silencing the last birds and with them the world around them.

The sun cannot fully reach the lifeless body under the trees, but its warmth gets hold of Danny's torn feet and begrimed legs. It stretches up and forward, a promise of gentle touches and tender care. Danny's body reacts, somewhere buried deep in his consciousness he knows he needs to move, to get closer to the sound that saved him if he wants to survive. He gets up on his knees, head bend, wheezing. First putting one foot down and pushing upwards, he sways but stays upright despite the weight of the rope dragging his head and neck down. One foot in front of the other, he moves past the horse which nudges him forward, its muzzle soft and grounding. It refuses to move once Danny has made it past the commander and when the length of the rope is running out he lets it slip to the ground.

Danny continues his slow progress toward the looming wall in front of him. Step by step, he pushes his body past its limits, exhausted and mindless. One step further away from a community which has kept him at its fringes since his birth as the fatherless son of a whore. One step further away from the community which has turned its back on his mother when she fell ill. And one step closer towards a community which by its own laws and regulations condemns him as a sinner, a heathen unworthy of this life and even less deserving of a dignifying death.

The sun casts a long shadow now. The world is silent, watching breathlessly as the small figure moves forward. Danny is surrounded by warmth and light; and he stands upright with eyes wide open when a small door in the heavy bulwark of the wall is opened.


	2. The cleaning

_The roads where the Lover seeks his Beloved are long and dangerous, crowded with cares, longing sighs, and weeping, but illuminated with love._

 **Ramon Llull, The Book of the Lover and the Beloved, verse 2**

The abbot and the novice stand in the dark shadows of the wall. They watch the broken, beaten captive take the last steps towards and through the small doorway. He has to make it on his own, that is the unspoken rule. The abbot covers his fists in the long sleeves of his frock. He is angry and he will have words with Them later. The novice still holds the bell rope in his hands; too terrified to move once he sees the crowd, the horse and its rider—and the young man struggling to move forward.

Danny collapses into the arms of Father Michael, who motions Alex to pull in the end of the rope and close and lock the door. Alex works fast and quietly. He avoids looking at the young man, who now starts to shiver violently; the rattle of teeth chattering is loud in the silence of the overshadowing wall and the hushed woods around them.

"We have to get the ropes off him and keep him warm."

Father Michael's words are spoken gently, almost soothingly. Alex works Danny's hands free, while Father Michael pulls off the rope around his neck. With a disgusted flick, he throws the rope to the side.

"Give me your robe, Alex. You'll keep warm from running. Tell Hooper to prepare the concoctions, bandages, hot water and whatever else is needed to clean up this little Ebenezer."

Alex blinks at the odd epithet, before he takes of his robe and hands it to Father Michael. Then he starts running down the path.

The abbot places the trembling boy on the robe, carefully wrapping him up in the warmth and softness of the clothes before he lifts the bundle and begins the slow walk back to the convent. Father Michael is angry. And he says so—loudly.

"Tell me, Lord, why is this necessary? I'll have words with Jeremias. This has gone too far."

He looks at the sky, waiting for an answer.

"Ha! Thought so. A bit ashamed of Yourself, are You? You should be. The villagers will think they have Your blessings."

The bundle has stopped shaking and Father Michael stops to check on Danny. His body is limp now and his breathing is shallow and fast. Father Michael tucks him even closer under his own robe, providing as much comfort and heat as possible.

"I'm not giving up on him, Lord. And Alex. Jeremias is not turning these two into one of his experiments!"

This time there is a rumble from further up the mountain side. Dark rainclouds are gathering. Father Michael just sends a lopsided smile upwards.

"Got Your attention now, have I?"

The bundle in his arms is too light to be a burden and Father Michael walks past the small church, where the other monks and novices will have started vespers by now. The singing is faint, and he starts to hum the monotone melody to the boy in his arms. There is a muffled whimper in reply, which makes Father Michael hum louder, smiling gratefully.

Hooper and Alex are in the small infirmary, a bright room placed between the abbot's rooms on one side and Hooper's cell on the other. All three rooms are connected by doorways. Danny is laid out on the large table, white sheets placed under him and a few blankets covering most of his body to keep him warm. Father Michael knows Hooper is disquieted by the presence of Alex, but he shakes his head when Hooper pointedly looks from Alex to the door. Biting his lower lip and shooting an annoyed glance at Father Michael, Hooper carefully begins his work, uncovering the upper part of Danny's body. A few telling glances pass between Hooper and Father Michael.

"Alex, you can wash Daniel's face and neck. Be careful with the wounds and bruises. And we'll have to shave his head. Make sure to use clean water and clean washcloths all the time."

Alex sets to work, trying to suppress his curiosity. Father Michael has told him very little about the young man on the table. He just mentioned something about the annual ritual of the tainted novice, probably assuming Alex would know about it. Even after being at the monastery for two months, Alex has not become acquainted with all of the brothers, and even less so with the other novices. Brother Jeremias keeps him close, the studying of old scriptures taking up most of his time. Brother Jeremias is strict in his ways and expects Alex to follow his lead. They talk about the rules and laws of their faith, the prayers and hymns and how to best apply them in their daily life. Alex loves the tidiness and routine, the predictability of it all.

Father Michael is different. The few times Alex has followed him, he was left confused and anxious byt the end of the day. Not because Father Michael was angry or demanding. Quite the opposite, Alex muses, while he slowly and meticulously cleans Danny. Washing of the grime reveals a face which must be beautiful when the cuts are healed and the hollow cheeks full again. Alex hand stills and lingers on the bruised throat, his fingers brush softly over torn skin. He takes a clean washcloth and continues down a hairless chest, exposing marble white, almost transparent skin. The bruises and wounds become abundant now. Some of them are still bleeding.

Father Michael is shaving off black, filthy curls. His eyes are hard, accusing, every now and again he mutters under his breath.

—I'll have words—why, tell me why—no way this is going to continue—poor, little Ebenezer—

Hooper works silently on the open wounds, cleaning out any debris, stitching up and bandaging the worst ones. He is deeply engrossed in his tasks, not heeding Father Michael's muttering or Alex's blushes when he moves the next blanket, uncovering the lower part of Danny's body. The soft skin is covered in vicious contusions and open gashes, as if some of the villagers have targeted his abdomen and groin with a raging hatred. The flaccid penis is surrounded by black curls, dirty as the rest of the body, infected with lice. Some of the older wounds are infected. Alex gasps loudly and flinches, when he recognises maggots crawling in one of them. Hooper is beside him and plucking out the small worms a moment later. Father Michael takes a deep breath and bites his tongue to keep himself from saying things, even he might regret.

Alex is shaken, but keeps pushing on with his task. His hands might tremble a bit and he has to swallow several times, but he continues to clean the wounds and point out the deepest cuts to Hooper. The long legs are sparsely covered in black hair. Several abrasions are new, others healed over. By the time Alex is ready to clean the feet and toes, he has changed the water in the bucket five times and is using the umpteenth washcloth. He has to fight back tears, when they carefully turn Danny on his side to better clean his back. The sheets underneath the body are drenched in blood and dirt and they replace them. Danny whimpers quietly, whenever they move him, but he lies still as soon as they continue cleaning him.

Alex has no idea what time it is when they have finished their task. The infirmary's corners are cast in shadows, only the table is brightly lit up by candles and a gas light. Danny is covered in bandages, his head and groin shaved and cleaned up. He looks peaceful, as if asleep.

Hooper has made sure to make him drink several times. The liquid contains painkillers and a mild tranquilliser as well as sugar and other nutrients. Danny has trouble swallowing, but he drinks greedily anyway. He has kept his eyes closed, sometimes pressing them shut when the prodding and poking becomes too painful.

They are all tired by the time they have finished cleaning up.

"You'll stay with him, Alex. In the room beside Hooper's. You can fetch your things now, Hooper and I'll ready Daniel for the night."

Father Michael sounds tired, but the friendly note in his voice is back as is the small smile on his face. When Alex turns, Danny's hands moves as if to grab Alex's in his. Unsure of what to do, Alex stops and looks at Father Michael. He gives a small nod and his smile is wide, reaching his eyes this time. Alex blushes when he caresses Danny's hand, then gives it an affirmative squeeze before he leaves the room.

Father Michael closes the door behind Alex.

"What do you think, Molly? Will he make it through the night?"

Molly looks disapprovingly at him.

"You know he is awake, Mike, right?"

"He is barely conscious—and even if he is, I don't think, we need to fear the little Ebenezer."

Molly huffs while she takes out a night gown from the large cupboard and starts dressing Danny.

"The Lord told you so?"

Mike's smile becomes even wider while Molly just shakes her head. Danny is very quiet.

"They did, yes."

Mike practically beams when Molly comes closer and gives him a small peck on his lips.

"Well, let's hope you're right. Both of you," Molly says, casting a glance upward. "Let's get him to bed and make sure, Alex has everything he needs if Daniel should wake up. And tell him, he can just knock on the wall to wake me."

They return to their task and Molly turns back to being Hooper, the monk who has taken the vow of silence.

When they have moved Danny, Alex returns with his few belongings. He is tired and rather confused. Brother Jeremias has been nowhere to be seen. Alex feels a flutter in his stomach when he enters his new cell. Danny is lying in one of the cots, tugged in underneath a clean, warm blanket. Father Michael is stroking over Danny's bare head before he turns to talk to Alex.

"Hooper will wake, just knock on the wall if you need anything tonight. If Daniel wakes, try and make him drink some more."

There is a bottle and a cup on the small table pushed in between the two bedsteads. Alex nods.

"I'll leave you to it. He can have nightmares or be afraid when he wakes. Try talking to him or hold him. Anything, which doesn't remind him of the past months in that prison."

Father Michael yawns, shakes his head.

"Sorry. Well, should I stay with you for night prayer?"

"No. Thank you, Father."

Night prayer is Alex's way of stocktaking and turning over the day's events in his mind. He knows it should be a praising of the Lord, a communing with Him—but try as he might, he has never been able to hear God speaking to him. Having heard Father Michael's talking to and even scolding of the Lord, Alex has to admit that he envies him. But not now. Father Michael has left the room and only one small candle casts its light. Danny is asleep. When Alex sits down on the side of his cot, he can feel a deep contentment spreading inside of him. He watches Danny's chest moving up and down, listens to his slow, deep breaths. He will keep a vigil tonight. And he will pray. And maybe, just maybe, God will answer his prayers.


	3. An Understanding

_Many Lovers joined together to love one Beloved, who filled them all with love. Each one carried his Beloved fully in his heart, with gratifying anxiety, and felt a pleasant tribulation of this._

 **Ramon Llull, The Book of the Lover and the Beloved, verse 3**

When Danny stirs the first time Alex wakes from his light doze. The small jerks of the hand Alex is holding are enough to draw him back to full awareness. Spasms pull through Danny's body when he buries facedown into his pillow, his hands close together in front of his chest as if they were still tied up. His screams are soundless. He is gasping for air and his legs twitch in a fruitless running motion.

Alex observes quietly. He lets go of Danny's hand to contemplate Danny's apparent agitation. He knows it is a nightmare and he can clearly see the distress in Danny's features. Alex feels uncertain. He always does. It is as if he is trapped behind a glass wall. He can watch the world, analyse, and understand it. He recognises the emotions, even feels them deeply inside himself. And yet—he never knows how to react. He wants to reach out by touch or word, but years of punishment and repression has taught him not to show his sentiment. So he watches instead, curious and sad, because he knows Danny is scared and in pain.

But Danny senses him. He is aware of the other human being kneeling beside him. A human being who has touched him with soft hands and carefully, tenderly, cleaned his body. Danny is asleep, caught up in his terrifying dream, but he turns toward this other presence, reaches out with bound hands and grasps for help. He cannot scream—he is trying—but no sound emerges. His fingers curl into tough fabric, pulling it close. He curls his body around the other, a silent plea to hold him, safe him.

Surprise is replaced by tension when Alex slowly places his arms around the trembling body, not knowing what is expected of him or how the other will react. He desperately wants to let down his own defences.

When Danny pulls him even closer, whimpering into his shoulder, something finally breaks. Instinctively, Alex hugs him tightly into his embrace. He begins to whisper soothing nonsense into Danny's ear. The convulsions begin to ease immediately. Alex continues to murmur prayers and psalms, committed to memory long time ago. Thoughtless, he presses small kisses to Danny's bald head as he feels him go limp in his arms. Warmth is spreading inside Alex. He pushes himself awkwardly up on the small bed, leaning against the wall with Danny clasped firmly against his chest, Alex's legs spread out on either side of Danny. He manages to pull the blanket on top of both of them without disturbing Danny further. His own heart beat slows as he cocoons both of them safely against the rest of the world.

On the other side of the wall, Molly is meditating in deep prayer. She has heard the commotion, expected a knock, but the adjacent room has fallen silent again. Her eyes are closed and she repeats the same verse over and over again, chanting it quietly.

"Whatever makes the love of the Lover grow remains to be loved in me."

Her breathing is slow and deep. She kneels on the cold stone, relaxed. Her mind is fixed on the words, only a small part remains alert to any sounds from the outside world. She enjoys the peaceful silence of the monastery; the praying brothers in the small chapel too low-pitched to disturb the serene tranquility in this part of the building. Molly lets her mind run free around the sentence, the words, the questions and answers, which come to her involuntarily.

She lets her mind connect the verse with the face of Father Michael. Mike. A smile shows on her face, unbidden but not unwanted. Her life is shown to her, from the first moment she can remember; her mother, heartbroken, handing her—a small, malnourished child—to a stern nun; the following years rushing by in a blur. After all, she _is_ heeding Mike's words.

 _Forgive, so you can love; love, so you can forgive._

Instead, she dwells on the very first time she saw him. When he came and took her with him. So many adventures they have had together, before they were told to come here. She has to disguise herself, become the monk who has taken the vow of silence. She knows Mike was concerned back then, but she relishes the freedom the disguise offers her. She has become one of 'them'. She is no longer 'the odd one out'—the woman nobody knows how to place in this hierarchy of men. She is, as she always has been, the shy, reliable assistant of Father Michael.

Mike has never treated her differently. To him, she is his most valued assistant, his dearest friend. Sometimes, they will cuddle each other. Because she still has bad days, when memories will haunt her, old stories and insults surface in her mind. And sometimes, very few times, Mike will need her to cuddle him.

She forces her thoughts down another road. She wants to understand the notion of love, of loving another human being, of loving God. Mike has given her the small book, the only treasure she owns. It is old and well-worn, and she knows it has been Mike's for a long time. There is one verse for every day of the year. One verse, to contemplate each day. She has been through all the verses three times already. And still, the idea of love eludes her. She has heard the other nuns lament the pain of their desires. They have told her about their elated feelings for God, their all encompassing love for Him. She has never felt that way herself. She wondered for many years if something was wrong with her. But then Father Michael visited the cloister. He knew as soon as he saw her. He always knows. She wonders how he does it. She knows he talks with God and God answers him. But knowing who belongs to whom—she has asked him once, how he did it. Mike sent her a sad smile.

 _"I think it is because I have never loved. And never will. I can see it in others. I can see, who they are seeking and when they have found the one."_

 _Mike deliberated a short while._

 _"Sometimes," he hesitated. "Sometimes, I can even see how many other lovers there will be in their live."_

 _"But," she was confused. "I thought there was always just the one true love. Your one and only soulmate."_

 _At that, Mike smiled an even sadder smile._

 _"That is what people want you to believe, isn't it? The idea of two halves of the one whole? But, what if you are whole? Or—what if you need not one but several other halves to become one?"_

 _She was confused._

 _"How about God?" Mike continued, trying to explain it to her. "Can They just love one?"_

 _"No," she answered. "But He is God. He loves all of His creation."_

 _"And They tell us to love all of Their creation as well."_

 _Mike winked at her, now with the broadest smile possible._

As befuddled as she was then, Mike refused to give further explanations. She has wondered—and still wonders—if she could have the same gift. Or is it a curse? She frowns. Changes her focus once more. Alex. The young man who studies the old documents and scriptures with Brother Jeremias. Her mind lingers on the events earlier today. The way he washed the grime off the bruised and beaten young man on the table. Not once did he hesitate. A new, hitherto unknown feeling blossoms inside of her. She knows. Suddenly, she knows with unhesitating certainty. She smiles widely, opens her eyes and looks upward.

"Thank you."

She takes the small book and rereads the whole first verse. A profound sense of satisfaction flows through her body and mind. It feels like a tingle running across her skin. She closes her eyes and kisses the book. She goes to bed, knowing the knock she has been waiting for will not come.


End file.
